My iPhone, Or the Shortcomings of Google Translate
by GaolerWench
Summary: For Christmas, one of America's underlings decided to get him an iPhone. Sadly, the poor guy had no idea of just what he had started... You can definitely say that things are a little weird in the first volume of Technology in the Modern World.


**AN: Welcome to the first installment of Technology in the Modern World! Just so you know, this story is not meant to be taken extremely seriously. This is written from America's point of view, so there may be some offensive elements.**

Dear Diary,

This is my first entry, diary. I just thought you'd like to know more about me since I'll be spilling my deepest and darkest secrets (not that!) to you. I don't want you to turn out to be like the diary from Harry Potter. You're not a horcrux are you?

I'm awesome. Not the fake kind of awesome that Gilbert (a.k.a. Prussia) claims, but true, honest-to-God, slap your mom awesome.

But enough of that. I'm sure you're not here for talk of my awesomeness. You're probably here for me, myself and I—no _talk_ of awesomeness, only the real thing.

So, anyway, some of the most epic (and totally true) reasons that I am awesome are…

**1.** My hair. You gotta love my hair. It's all golden blonde and stuff. Not like that idiot Germany's, I promise you, it's better. Just ask England. Yeah, my hair…

**2.** Texas. I just love my glasses! And no, I'm not chuckling nervously while I'm writing this.

**3.** My bomber jacket! I wear it every day so I'm always ready to jump in a plane and set off to war!

**4.** My new iPhone! You know those fancy square/rectangle things (is it a square, or a rectangle?) that everyone has. Well, you know, they've become a status symbol. So it makes sense that I have one, right? Anyway, it's got all these fancy apps and junk. It has a calculator, ruler, and it even talks to me! I've named her Brittany. _No, _it's not weird for me to have named her, stop asking…

So, diary, I'm gonna go to the World Conference now. I'm kinda cutting it close, 'cause I'm late. Stop laughing at me! I knew I had the WC meeting at six, but I wanted to stay away from England. And France. France gives me the creeps.

Anyway, bye!

* * *

><p>Okay, you guys, I just witnessed the most confusing thing of my life. I'm literally writing this straight from Russia's house. Here's how the source of my confusion went (it being the WC meeting), including my awesome and heroic comments. Hold on to your seats, kids; it's gonna be a bumpy ride!<p>

I showed up at the WC building in my awesome Ford (totally American made!), striding out of the car and into the building with grace. And no, I did not fall flat on my face while attempting to get out of the car, no matter what France tells you.

So my awesome self strode inside, where I called out a hearty welcome to my friends (even the weird ones), pulled out a hamburger and, to use the slang of my citizens, began to nom.

I didn't bother paying attention to the rest of the countries; they won't be saying anything that concerns me, anyways.

"Hey, guys!" I called jubilantly.

Why is England giving me the stink-eye?

"You interrupted me, you git!" He screamed, face purpling.

"No, I didn't." I stated confusedly. "You weren't talking."

England sighed explosively, slamming—did he just lose some brain cells?

"Anyway, I have an announcement to make!" I grinned, waiting for them to guess what I wanted to share.

Dead silence. Wait, were those crickets? I thought Germany called the exterminator…

"Since you idiots are obviously not gonna guess, I'll tell ya! I got an iPhone!"

Murmurs broke out. They were obviously discussing the inexpressible envy that they felt towards me.

"Ano… America-san, that is not rearry an accomprishment." Japan whisper-spoke timidly.

"Shut up, weirdo! You're just jealous that _my_ citizens invented this awesomely heroic technology!" I fumed.

Wait, did he just call me a failure? I mean, you don't think I'm a failure, do you? Am I a failure? I am! Cue epic scream of sadness.

I blinked away my tears (Heroes never cry!) and pulled out my iPhone. I began to flip through my apps, hoping that _something_ could satisfy my boredom. Ah! Safari. Hey, isn't that the web browser Apple uses? Why is it on my phone? Apple didn't make—

Oh, wait.

I feel really stupid right now.

Hopefully England will never find this; wouldn't want to give him another reason to laugh at me.

So anyway, Google was the first page (obviously it'd been set as my homepage, people, don't tease me) that appeared on the screen. Yay. Search engine. I had nothing better to do, so I flipped through all of the options available for users of Google: web, images, videos, maps, trans—holy crap, they have a translator! Does it work?

I click the output language to French, a devious smirk on my face, and I type in a little message for Francis. I end up with…

"Yo, Francy-pants! Mon nom est Alfred!" I grinned, consciously overextending every vowel to irritate him.

Obviously I interrupted again. I didn't think I would, why are you looking at me like that? People should wait for their Heroes to acknowledge them so they may feel happy that said Heroes actually spoke to them!

My attention was snapped back to the room by a strangled noise. Is someone killing an animal? Someone go save that poor thing!

But no, it was no animal (actually he was, but that's not something to mention in polite company). France managed to choke on his food—when did he get that? And he was now staring at me with a most unpleasant look on his face. It kinda looked like a giant monkey crapped in front of his nose. How do I know this, you ask? Two words. King. Kong.

I decided to try another one. Let's see… Spanish, Italian, Russian—no, not that, he'll kill me—Swedish. Let's go with Russian! I swear, I must really want to die.

The thingy read "ты идиот". I really had no idea how to pronounce it (and still don't) but luckily there was the phonetic reading listed underneath the strange Cyrillic letters.

"T-ty idiot." I stammered, not daring to look the living, breathing steamroller in the face.

"What did you say?" Came a dangerous voice with a childish grin.

"I said you're an idiot! And you smell funny!" Mouth, stop moving. Vocal cords, stop vibrating. Oh, dammit, I'm saying something again—

"I'll become one with Russia if you don't kill me!" Holy—what have I done? I have to live with that—no, Alfred, control your anger, everyone's looking at you…

I just agreed to become one with Russia. And now he's staring at me strangely…

He strode up, gave me a pat on the head, and strong-armed me out the door.

I didn't say anything else, for fear of my life. I _am _an idiot…

* * *

><p>The first thing my new roommate did was break my iPhone.<p>

Now we're back to square one, except with a rather large Russian tag-along.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: There are two things America and I have in common: blue eyes, glasses, and ADD. I think I've typed more exclamation points here than in all my writing throughout my life...<strong>

**The vocabulary choice was purposefully watered down because, please, it's America. He's not exactly the most colorful crayon in the pack.**

**I don't own Hetalia: Axis Powers, Harry Potter, or Apple. **

***_The two things America is trying to say are:_**

**_1. Mon nom est _. That's Google Translate's version of "my name is". The correct version is "je m'apelle"._**

**_2. I typed "you're an idiot" into Google Translate and came up with this. I'm pretty sure it's incorrect, but I have almost zero knowledge of Russian, so forgive me._**


End file.
